Dirty Kisses (5 page)

Whitney Briggs University is bustling with skateboards and bicycles. If you’re not careful, either one will land you on the ground with tire tracks running down your back. It’s a virtual cluster of limbs and mechanics all moving in a stressful symphony as bodies jostle to get to classes. I’m all through with my last classes for the day. They’re all just okay with the exception of Interpretive Art, which is shaping up to be the best class I’ve ever taken. The first thing we’re going to work on is sketches, so in addition to the books I’ve already purchased, I need to make a quick run into the student store to pick up a few supplies, sketchpads, charcoal pencils, and a kneaded eraser.

I wish life came with a giant kneaded eraser. I’m still making headlines on every tawdry website known to modern man. It seems the senator has lost his backers for his upcoming presidential bid, and every day a new lie is shed about me as a punishment. I can hardly stand the heavy stares from my classmates, their heated whispers as I try to sit unassumingly amongst them. I went as far as to throw my hair into a ponytail, donning a baseball cap and sunglasses, but it’s too late.

The scarlet letter—an S to be exact is clearly stamped across my chest for all to see. I’d like to think the S stands for Slimy Senator, but I know that the world, much like my father, believes what they want to believe. The only person who doesn’t seem to have an opinion is ironically the girl who got me into this debacle. Caila hasn’t said a word to me yet, which of course, pisses me off to no end. I haven’t breathed a word to her sister, Cassidy. In fact, nobody knows of my loose connection to what amounts to a prostitution ring.

I shake all thoughts of the day off before heading up the stairs toward the campus bookstore. The heady scent of paperbacks brings a sense of calm the second I walk through the door. On my way over to the art supplies, I take a quick detour through the girls’ sports department, which is typically dotted with the cutest tennis skirts you’ve ever laid eyes on. They’re amazingly sexy with their well-cut pleats and thick ream of grosgrain ribbon running along the edge. I’ve been tempted to take up the sport a time or two just to have an excuse to purchase two or six. I’m about to fondle one when a totally cute pair of Chuck All-Stars in the prettiest shade of pale pink catches my eye, and suddenly everything in me begs to have them. I haven’t bought a single thing since this entire nightmare broke, and I’m beginning to get the shakes just thinking about it.

Last New Year’s Eve, I made the resolution to go on a thirty-day shopping fast just to give my credit cards a breather from the holidays—as much as I love spoiling myself, I love spoiling my friends. But that fast was rather short-lived, all of nineteen hours. Who knew the best deals of the year take place on New Year’s Day? But this seven-day foray into retail starvation has left me hungry and chomping at the bit, and, right about now, I have a craving for something light pink that can really take me places.

“That’s right—I’m looking at you, Chuck,” I whisper under my breath. God, an entire week and counting without a single retail purchase to call my own has me practically jonesing for everything in this girly sports section. Even the homely gray sweats with nary a trendy logo to call their own seem to be pulling me toward them.

A whole
week
and counting. I had three dresses on hold at Neiman Marcus that I let go to waste because I was too horrified to venture out that far into the world. Not that I have a single dress to adorn myself with at Jet’s house. I’ve been through hell and back with just a few things my friends tossed into a bag. Per my request, my things have been hermetically sealed in boxes and are currently taking up space in Jet’s living room, but I’ve been so busy, and so emotionally distraught, I can’t seem to go through them.

I can’t be expected to live in a pair of flip-flops until I get my life back in control. It’s fall for fuck’s sake. The weather in Hollow Brook has been known to turn on a dime. My feet are the foundation of my body. They’re expected to last a lifetime. I can’t just leave them without stability, exposed to the elements, and expect them to offer up decades’ worth of loyal service in return. I practically deserve these shoes. My feet deserve them. Also, I snatch up a couple of OPI nail polishes in the university’s team colors of blue and orange for the big game coming up next week. Rex is playing, and Scarlett has already insisted that I go. Those gray sweats somehow magically find themselves in my arms along with a couple of scarves from the Impressionist collection that catch my eye. The scarves are exceptionally cute. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist from the engineering department to know those will be snatched up quickly. If I’ve learned one lesson in my short retail related year here at WB, it’s if you see it and you like it, you buy it or you’re not guaranteed to see it the next time you visit the bookstore.

By the time I hit the register with my half dozen different sized sketchbooks, a plethora of pencils, both colored and charcoal, scarves, sweats, shoes, polish, and the cute little eye shadow palate they had on clearance in the beauty section, I’m winded.

A tall brunette with a punched-in nose quickly rings up my order. “That’ll be three hundred fifty-three dollars and twenty-two cents.”

“
What
?” I balk at the ridiculous total. “That can’t be right. Did you clear the last purchase? That frat boy ahead of me in line had three fat textbooks. Everyone knows what you charge for those is highway robbery.” A smug sense of self-righteous anger fills me as if I’m on a mission to right all of the overpriced scholastic wrongs—as if my shopping spree might benefit more than my shoe collection. It just might be the catalyst to start a revolution against overinflated textbook prices the world over.

“Nope. It’s all you.”

“Me?” I glance around at the line forming in the queue. God, there are six other registers. Why the heck aren’t they all open? “Um, exactly how much are the scarves?”

She glances up at the screen as another coworker comes up alongside her. Thank goodness. I glance back at the angry mob forming behind me and give a knowing nod.

Her coworker fondles the blue-green one who slightly reminds me of Jet Madden’s eyes—not that I’m gunning to go broke as a reminder. “This is Monet, isn’t it? I’m so in love. I’ve had my eye on it for weeks.”

A tight knot builds in my belly in response to her lust-filled declaration.

“They’re sixty-nine dollars a piece,” pug nose announces. “You want to take them off?”

“Sixty-nine dollars?” An explosion of heat prickles over me at once.

“I
know
.” The cashier chooses to ignore my repetitive in nature albeit legitimate question. “It’s the last one, though. I’ve been blowing these out the door all day.”

Blowing them out the door all day? My stomach wrenches at the thought of sending one back.

“Here.” I hand over my credit card in a commanding, yet confident manner. What’s another three-hundred dollars going to hurt? It’s been hell all week. I’m lucky to be standing upright to able to purchase anything at all.

She scans the card and hands it back to me. “Oh, wait. It’s rejecting it. Let me try again.”

“What?” I glance back to find an entire infantry of coeds smirking in my direction. I’m sure their credit cards are all working just fine. Correction, I’m sure
Daddy’s
credit cards are working just fine. I’ve witnessed these Whitney Briggs princesses American Expressing themselves all over Hollow Brook with wild abandon. I’m sure whatever it is they’re buying is a lot more expensive, and a lot less practical, than my measly purchase.

I steal a quick glance at the crowd of girls behind me, each of which is holding a few textbooks a piece, and a wave of guilt crashes over me.

“It’s not working.” The cashier hands back the card, and my face burns with embarrassment.

“Grab a bullhorn, why don’t you?” I hiss. “It
has
to work. It worked all last week when I bought my books.” I try shoving it at her once again, but she backs away from it like it’s an infectious disease.

“I’m sorry, but that line isn’t getting any smaller. People are getting pissed. Maybe you can come back?”

“I don’t care about those people. I need these notebooks now.” I cut a quick glance to the growing crowd and spot a tall, dark, tatted nightmare with his sweet little sis.

Gah
! I spin back around. “Look, just take this other stuff off.” I start pulling the scarves to the side and the cute polish in university themed colors, the sweats, the shoes—then quickly move the shoes back to the must-have pile and pull out the colored-pencils. What am I, three?

She begins the transaction over again to a choir of
ah, come on!

I wince in lieu of facing the taunts of my peers. “Can’t you open another register?” I whisper loud enough for the dipstick standing behind her to hear.

“Only Loretta has the key.” She shrugs, picking up my scarf once again, and this time trying it on for size.

Beast.

“It’s still not working.” The girl with the pug nose,
Loretta
, tries to slide it over to me, and I slide it right back. “Do it again. This time just the books.”

“Is there a problem?” a dark, deeply delicious voice calls from behind, and as much as my body begs to freeze from horror, I’m heated to the bone at the sound of that smooth, velvet voice. Without bothering to try, I imagine him saying those magic words to me once again, and that tender spot between my thighs starts in on a quiver.

“Shit,” I hiss, stuffing my credit card back into my purse. “I’ll pick these things up later.” I glare at the girls behind the counter before zipping toward the door.

“Whoa.” Jet steps in front of me, effectively blocking the exit, and it’s almost impossible for me to meet up with his gaze. “Where’s the fire?”

“Between my legs if you must know.” I try to sidestep him, but he’s right there with me. “By the way, in the event you didn’t get the memo, we speak no evil if you get my drift.” I glance down to that unnatural bulge in his jeans in the event it’s not clear as wicked crystal.

He folds those massive arms across his chest, and I catch an array of shapes and sizes inked into his skin that I quickly memorize to sort out later.

“Evil, huh?” He huffs at the idea. “I thought you might be leaning more toward heavenly. Looks like I might need to invoke another round to convince you otherwise.”

“Right. Try that, and I’ll be invoking a restraining order.”

“Hey!” His sister pops up, a feminine, far prettier version of him, and her features smooth out a moment. “Who do you think you are, threatening him with a restraining order?”

Jet turns to her, and I take that as my cue to make a dash for the exit. No sooner do I hit the fresh air outside than I take a moment to catch my breath. That cologne of his is still wrapped around me like a coat. It’s the kind that sticks to your skin, clings to your hair. I should know. I couldn’t wash his scent off me this morning no matter how much I scalded myself. All day he’s been as good as on me as he is
in
me for that matter. Suffice it to say, the ghost of his male member is still very much alive inside my body. It’s as if I’ve walked around with a giant dildo cast out of Jet Madden’s man parts lodged deep inside of me. A part of me wanted to go to the student health department to see if there was actually something wedged up in there. But the last thing I want is a team of student physicians gawking at my recently battered nether regions.

Piper shoots me a quick text letting me know they’re at Hallowed Grounds. A swell of relief fills me at the sight. I don’t need to see a doctor. All I need is a decent cup of coffee with my friends.

I
run all
the way to the Hallowed Grounds Café to find Cassidy’s pale arm waving me to the back where she’s seated with Piper and Scarlett in a woodsy area surrounded by overgrown houseplants that reach the ceiling, and, for once, I’m thankful to be cast into the unknowable corner lost in its fake flora and fauna. I’ve never been a fan of that murky area of the café before, and now that I realize how much anonymity it offers, I’m all for planting a jungle all over this damn school.

I fall into my seat with a huff, and Jet’s ghost appendage jabs me from the inside.

“I hope you’re all having a better day than I am.” I take a quick swig from Scarlett’s iced latte.

“Forget about us.” Piper reaches across the table and gives my hand a quick tug. “What’s going on with you? Did you ever talk to your family?”

“No. God no. My brothers and I have sent a few texts back and forth. They’re pretty sure I won’t be doing an internship at their firm anytime soon. I had one set up for winter break, but they said maybe next summer. It turns out, being the other woman in a political sex equation is tantamount to career suicide—especially if your indiscretion involves both politics and the legal system.”

“That sucks big ones.” Cassidy looks as if she’s about to be sick. “Oh, hon, all you need is for that old jackass to admit that nothing went on. And for the love of all things holy and right, how did you get mixed up with him anyway?”